


Idle Hands

by Shey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Bondage, Daddy Dom Peter Hale, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, Good Peter Hale, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shey/pseuds/Shey
Summary: Shit. This is gonna be difficult to explain.Stiles makes a small miscalculation and Peter takes full advantage. No one is surprised (or complaining).
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 41
Kudos: 664





	Idle Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this](https://shey-elizabeth.tumblr.com/post/616767289279299585/eramene-season-4-tryin-to-slip-stiles) Tumblr post and I just couldn't help myself. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Extra hugs and thanks to [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind) for the tagging help and clarity. I appreciate you so much! <3

Shit. This is gonna be difficult to explain. 

Stiles glances around the empty deputy’s office as he rattles the handcuffs again and twists his wrist against the bite of metal. He didn't _mean_ to cuff himself to the desk, it just sort of happened. Idle hands and all that. He _definitely_ didn't mean to do it while the keys were on the other side of the room. He’d needed something to fiddle with, a distraction while he waited, and the next thing he knew the cuffs had clicked into place and he was trapped.

He tugs again and licks his lips nervously as he ignores the hot prickle of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. He just needs to stay calm and find something to pick the lock with. Desks always have paperclips and pointy shit like that. 

Unless the desk happens to be totally empty. Like this one. Stiles bites back a distressed whimper. He does _not_ want to get caught like this, especially not by his da—

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

—by Peter _fucking_ Hale. Stiles burns at the mocking drawl and takes a quick step away from the desk. As if that will somehow distract from his predicament. The cuffs don't let him get far. "This definitely isn't what it looks like."

"Is that so?" Peter pushes himself off the doorframe and saunters closer. "Because it looks like a pretty boy has been touching things that don't belong to him, and now he's got himself in a tight spot."

Stiles ducks his head and twists his wrist in one last bid for freedom. The desk shifts with a screech, but there's no wiggle room in the cuffs. He slumps and tries to ignore the squirming in his gut. "Okay, fine. I totally deserve that. Can you shut up now and get me the keys?" He gestures across the room with his free hand.

Instead of moving to help, Peter’s nostrils flare as he takes an exaggerated breath. His voice practically drips with sugary condescension. "Is that how you ask nicely?"

Stiles's cock twitches in some kind of bullshit Pavlovian response, and he wishes he didn't know what Peter was reading from his scent. "Asshole," he grumbles, cheeks red as he glares at the keys taunting him from too many yards away.

Peter lets out a long sigh and tucks his hands into his pockets, waiting. 

Stiles' knees weaken, then firm with resolve. He knows he's being played, but Peter’s not the only one who’s good at the manipulation game. Stiles darts his tongue out to slide against his lower lip, then widens his eyes and makes his voice sweet and hopeful. "Please, Daddy?"

Peter's narrowed gaze almost hides the way his pupils expand. "I don't know, baby. You're being awfully mean to me." He raises a disappointed eyebrow.

God, disappointing his Daddy is the _worst_. Stiles shivers. Damn Peter for knowing him so well. Stiles rattles his trapped arm limply and pulls out his most pitiful puppy-eyes, complete with wobbly lower lip. "I could be nice."

"How nice?" Peter paces slowly forward, stalking him.

Stiles' gaze drops to Peter's feet but gets stuck somewhere around his belt buckle. He watches the approach and finds himself leaning against the cuff, straining to get closer.

Peter cups his jaw and urges him to step back, so the pressure is off his wrist, then pushes his thumb to the soft swell of Stiles' lower lip. Stiles licks at the digit, and his eyes flick up to meet deep blue. "So nice for you, Daddy," he murmurs, then takes Peter's thumb into his mouth and sucks. 

Peter’s eyes flash wolf-bright, and his rumbling growl makes Stiles’ insides go squirmy and hot. 

Dizzy with the sudden flood of desire, Stiles moans. He slides his free hand stealthily up Peter’s chest and huffs in frustration when his wrist is caught and held. When he tries to complain, Peter’s thumb presses down on his tongue, quieting him. 

“Greedy boy. You just can’t keep your hands to yourself today, can you?”

Stiles shrugs in agreement. He’s feeling _very_ greedy, and he knows just what he needs in order to make it better. Letting his jaw go soft, he opens his mouth further. 

“Alright. I can take a hint.” Peter strokes his tongue gently, then takes his hand back and uses it to help Stiles slide to his knees. He doesn’t release Stiles’ captured wrist though, just keeps it pressed to his ribs. Stiles can feel the steady heartbeat thud against his palm. It’s good, grounding.

Once he’s settled, Stiles shuffles forward and his lips seek out Peter’s cock, tracing the hard outline of it as he breathes in the rich, earthy musk. He nuzzles and mouths with determination, then lifts his eyes imploringly when he realizes Peter doesn’t intend to help him get to his prize. “Peter,” he whines and rattles the cuffs again.

Peter has the nerve to chuckle at him. “What’s wrong, baby boy? Is it too hard? Do you need Daddy’s help?”

Stiles’ cheeks heat and he shudders as want tries to steal what’s left of his concentration. Oh, he’s _so_ getting Peter for that one. He blinks up innocently, makes his eyes big and desperate as he lets his mouth gape. “Please,” he whimpers. “Please help me suck your cock, Daddy?”

The groan that wrenches its way out of Peter’s chest sounds painful, and his cock visibly twitches, a damp spot growing on his pants. Stiles fights down the smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips. He might be the one cuffed to the desk, but he knows exactly who has all the power here.

Peter pries open his belt one-handed, and Stiles gets a giddy thrill at the darkened fingernails that signal a slip in control. Peter is a tiny push away from wolfing out, and Stiles delights in being the cause of it.

Finally, finally, Peter gets his pants undone enough to free his cock. Stiles doesn’t wait for permission, just presses his tongue to the shaft, and licks his way up until he can wrap his lips around the tip.

Peter is already leaking, his erection dark and heavy, and Stiles is past the point where slow is an option. He opens wide and swallows Peter down. 

A strong hand winds into Stiles’ hair and draws him close, eases that thick cock deeper until it nudges the back of Stiles’ throat just how he likes it. It overwhelms him every time, being caught up like this, surrounded by his Daddy’s taste and scent. After a moment Peter starts to thrust, a smooth, steady glide, and Stiles melts. He licks and slurps at Daddy’s cock. Low, pleased moans escape every time he draws breath. It’s so easy to lose himself in this, to let go and know he’ll be cared for and protected.

He presses his captured palm more firmly to Daddy’s chest and revels in the pounding of his heart. He’s doing that. That’s Stiles making Daddy’s pulse race and his breath speed. He sucks harder and moans as he’s rewarded with the bitter taste of pre-come and the throb of the hard cock filling his mouth. 

“I’m close, baby.” 

Stiles hums at the warning and redoubles his efforts. He takes Daddy all the way in and swallows enthusiastically when he groans, long and low, and his cock starts to pulse on Stiles’ tongue. He drinks him all down and only stops when he’s tugged away so he can breathe. He blinks up, eyelashes clumped and cheeks damp from his eager deep-throating. Daddy smiles at him and his fingers trace the curve of Stiles’ cheek to rub the tears away. Stiles leans into the touch with a happy hum.

“My good boy,” Daddy rumbles, his voice sex-rough. He strokes his hand through Stiles’ hair and briefly presses his thumb to Stiles’ swollen lower lip. Eventually, he releases Stiles’ wrist so that he can tuck himself away and fasten his pants. Stiles waits patiently at his feet, head against Daddy’s thigh as he drifts back to himself.

Stiles sighs as he’s lifted off his protesting knees and gathered against Peter’s chest. He’s still achingly hard, but also kind of endorphin drunk and content to catch his breath for the moment. He lets Peter support his weight and leans in for a slow, drugging kiss. Peter’s tongue dips in to taste himself, and Stiles fists his shirt to keep him close.

He groans when a hand cups his ass and nudges the plug that’s been wreaking havoc with his focus since Peter put it in that morning. He rocks back, seeking more friction, then pouts when his boyfriend takes the pressure away. “Oh my god, Peter. This,” he shakes the cuffs, “is all your fault. If you don’t let me come I’ll— I’ll invite Scott over every night for a week!”

The light smack Peter gives him in response is just enough to jar the plug and make him gasp. His whole body tightens as he arches for more. Peter laughs. “Or, you can be patient—like you promised—until we get home, and I’ll let you ride me until you’ve come so many times that the only words you remember are ‘daddy’ and ‘please.’”

Stiles is nodding his enthusiastic consent before Peter even finishes talking, because, _yes_. He might walk crooked for a week, but it’ll be so worth it. 

He’s still buzzing and trying not to come in his pants when Peter stands him upright and fishes the handcuff keys out of his pocket. A few seconds later and he’s pressing kisses to Stiles’ abused wrist, his lips soothing the reddened skin. Stiles hums in contentment, then pauses with a sudden frown. 

“Wait.” He narrows his eyes. “Why do you have the keys?” He looks past Peter to the set on the far desk.

Peter is the picture of practiced innocence. “You thought those were the keys?” He drops a kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Darling, you shouldn’t assume.”

Stiles gapes at him. “You set me up?”

Peter tucks the cuffs into his pocket and wraps an arm around Stiles. “Think of it as keeping you entertained.” He leads Stiles toward the door, supporting his still shaky legs. “Who knows what would happen if I left you to your own devices, baby.”

Stiles huffs and pretends to let it go. For now. He has plenty of ways he can get revenge once they’re home. Besides, when it comes to his Daddy, Stiles wins even when he loses.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on Tumblr. [shey-elizabeth](https://shey-elizabeth.tumblr.com/) I reblog lots of Steter and the occational prompt idea.


End file.
